


keep the hatch closed

by dansunedisco



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The 100 (TV) Fusion, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Prompt Fill, Tropes, the 100 au, trapped together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 03:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7997038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dansunedisco/pseuds/dansunedisco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“They’re going to think we all died. They’ll think the ground isn’t survivable.”</p><p>-</p><p>Written for the valar-morekinks prompt: Jonsa + The 100 AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	keep the hatch closed

**Author's Note:**

> imo you don't have to be familiar with the 100 to understand the fic, so! hopefully that is the case :)

“Let me go!”

Sansa did not. She held onto Jon’s arm with all her strength. “You _can’t_ open the hatch! You know you can’t! You’ll kill us!”

He rounded on her furiously. “My _sister_ is out there! My _sister!_ ” He jerked his arm from her grasp. She stumbled from the force, but moved no closer to him. He was no longer lunging wildly for the vertical stairs that led out of the bunker--the bunker that was the only thing between them and the acid storm that raged outside.

“She was with Gendry,” she said firmly, “and they had the tents. They’ll be fine. They’ve been through this before.”

“I swear to the gods, if she isn’t…” 

“You’ll what?” She looked him in the eyes. “You’ll do what, Jon?” 

He said nothing, and slunk off with a sullen glare to the opposite end of the room they were now confined. 

Sansa let out a shaky breath. For all her bravado, for all her courage, she really didn’t know what Jon Snow would do to her if something happened to Arya. Rationally, he had to know walking out of here would mean not only his death, but Sansa’s as well. Keeping them locked inside was the only way to survive. They’d already lost three to the first storm. But Jon had made it clear from day one that he would do anything for his sister, and she didn’t want to know if revenge was one of them.

An hour passed. Sansa spent the time searching every last inch of the shelter. Jon was the one who had found it several days back, but Sansa had been too busy trying to convince the rest of the hundred to not take their monitoring bracelets off to get more than a cursory glance around. It was a hidden gem, and an extremely lucky find. Whoever had built the shelter stocked it with MREs, anti-radiation pills, wind-up radios, batteries, water cleansing tablets, medical kits, cots and blankets--it was a survivalist’s dream. Although the dropship had basic supplies, they weren’t stocked for a long-term stay. The impending winter’s chill would be brutal, but maybe, just maybe, they could tough it out with what they found here.

Then, she found the good stuff. 

“Monopoly!” she laughed.

Jon, who she had almost forgotten was trapped in here with her, came over to look. “What?” 

She held the game out. Board games were almost better than gold in space, so rare that some people bartered for them illegally. Most Sansa had seen were missing original pieces here and there, but _this_ one still had the shrink wrap on. She tore it off. “It’s Monopoly,” she said. “Haven’t you ever played?”

As soon as she said it, Sansa realized the error of her words. Jon was from Stark Station, like her, but the two of them had grown up in completely separate social spheres. She was the daughter of Ned Stark, council member and leader of Stark Station, and had all the opportunities their little world had provided. Jon, she knew, was not so fortunate. “Nevermind,” she said quickly, “let me show you how. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

It wasn’t. Jon argued with nearly every rule she laid out, even if it came directly from the instructions, and she became so frustrated by him that she knocked his little top-hat figurine off the board. “There,” she said, and crossed her arms over her chest. “The game’s finished now.”

Then the strangest thing happened. Jon began to laugh. And when he laughed, Sansa couldn’t help but smile, and then she was laughing, too. They were trapped together in a bunker, acid winds were a very real problem, and they were fighting over rules from a game over one hundred years old. If that wasn’t ridiculous, she wasn’t sure what was. Seemingly Jon felt the same. 

The ice between them thawed after that, if only a little. They put the game away, and Jon helped her organize the bunker. He no longer glared at her outright, too. It was a small victory. The two of them had been at odds from the very beginning, for reasons Sansa _still_ didn’t comprehend, and it was nice not to fight. Plus, she knew if she wanted the trust of their people, she needed him. Most of the kids that had come down on the dropship were from the lower stations, and viewed Jon as their leader by proxy. She didn’t care if he ran the show, but the directionless chaos he’d fostered needed to change, and fast. 

After organizing as best they could, they cracked open an MRE each in celebration, and sat amiably together on the couch. They ate silently. The food was, in all honesty, disgusting, but it was leagues better than the meager berries and lean rabbit meat they’d been eating for the past two weeks.

Another hour ticked by. The howling winds did not cease, and Sansa quickly grew restless. Would they be trapped in here forever? She was beginning to feel like she was back on the Ark, locked up. She shivered, and stood. She began to pace.

“Why were you in the skybox?” Jon asked, after a few minutes. 

The question was an inevitable one. Everyone asked it eventually. Answering was the hard part. Telling the truth could jeopardize everything, but lying was meaningless. She needed Jon on her side. Her stomach twisted, the secret she’d been harboring for the better part of a year on the tip of her tongue. She took a breath. “Do you remember history class? How the Ark came to be?”

“Yeah,” he replied warily. 

“Then you remember how it’s supposed to have enough supplies to last us two hundred years, right? Food and water and oxygen?”

He nodded.

“Well… that was a lie. It was all a lie. The O2 scrubbers went bad five years ago and--and there was a major coverup by the council to keep it from the general population. My dad--” she closed her eyes for a moment, “--my dad found out about it. He was going to tell the people, to try and find a solution, but Cersei…” 

Jon was frowning now. Everyone knew the story of Ned Stark. He’d been branded a traitor, and floated for his crimes. Sansa had been thrown into the skybox for conspiring with him. Solitary confinement for nearly a year. She would’ve been floated on her eighteenth birthday. She’d been sent to earth instead. Sometimes it felt like a death sentence. 

She hugged herself. “We’re test subjects. Lab rats. To see if we can survive the ground.”

“Most of the kids on the dropship were under eighteen.” He spat the words out angrily. 

“I know.” 

“They were using the bracelets to monitor us,” he said, cold realization dawning in his steely eyes. “They’re going to think we all died. They’ll think the ground isn’t survivable.”

“And they’re going to cull people to buy time. People in _lesser stations._ Knowing Cersei, she’s going to blame it on some… some malfunction.”

His expression hardened. “How do we stop that from happening?” 

“We need to get some signal back to my mom.” All their radios had been fried breaking atmosphere. “Maybe… maybe your sister can reverse engineer one of the bracelets. If that’s even possible.”

“If it isn’t, she’ll make it possible.”

They shared a smile. Jon, she noted, had a very nice one. 

“We should probably get some sleep,” he said. He cleared his throat. “Doesn’t sound like the storm’s going to let up anytime soon.” 

Sansa agreed. She was beat from running for her life all day long.

They dragged out two cots from their stash and covered them in musty pillows and blankets. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing to lie on, but it beat a sleeping bag on the hard-packed ground or the metal floor of the dropship. They switched the main lights off, and put a wind-up camping light between them. It reminded Sansa of the running lights that were always on the Ark, no matter the time of day. It reminded her of her bunk in her family unit. It reminded her of her mom. Tears pricked at her eyes. All she wanted was to see her again. Robb, and Bran and Rickon, too; Jeyne and Beth. She would even be glad to see Theon. They were stupid thoughts. All they served was to make her miserable. She tried to hide the sound of her sniffling, but it was useless. She scrubbed at her face, but the tears kept coming.

“It’s okay, you know,” Jon whispered awkwardly, “to cry.” 

“Disagree. I don’t have time to cry.” 

“We’re trapped in an underground bunker,” he replied wryly. “As far as I can tell, we have all the time in the world.”

She tried very hard not to laugh. “Don’t try and cheer me up.”

“Why not? You look better when you’re smiling. Or neutral. Your murderous glare is admirable also. Ah, there it is…”

He was smiling again, and Sansa couldn’t keep her glare up. Her stomach fluttered, looking at him. _What is wrong with you?_ She fluffed her pillow and settled back down. This time, she fell asleep quickly.

She woke sometime later to a hand on her shoulder, and Jon’s voice. The storm had passed, and he wanted to leave as soon as possible to make sure Arya was safe. “Okay,” she murmured, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her body ached, and she could really use the rest, but she was more than ready to leave nevertheless.

They packed quickly--now that they knew what was down here, they could just take the essentials and come back for the rest--and headed for the ladder. Once there, they both looked up at the hatch, then back at one another; _weird, huh?_ They’d come down together as borderline enemies. She’d wager to say that they were now allies, if not tentative friends. It was strange what a few hours of near-death experiences and isolation could do for a friendship. She hoped it would remain.

Sansa tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, weirdly shy. “I never thanked you for bringing me down here. So… thanks.” 

He smiled at her again, unsure but genuine.

They climbed the rungs up, Jon first, and Sansa next, back to reality.


End file.
